Maxwell's Return (22 page)

‘Sylv, could you? That would be marvellous. Twenty minutes? I’ll walk up to the corner. See you then.’

Jacquie kicked his left shoe across to him from and said, ‘Sylv?’

‘Thingee has asked to speak to me.’

‘Sarah or Charlotte?’ Jacquie knew the code. ‘Is she all right?’

‘Charlotte. She’s in Leighford General. She went in for a termination but… well, there seems to have been a problem. They’re keeping her in overnight. She wants to talk to me.’

‘Why?’ Jacquie knew that her husband’s shoulder was a very sought-after item, but she also knew that he was hardly a by-word where obstetricians gathered. ‘Why does she want to talk to you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Sylv was a bit cagey. I’ll give you a ring from the hospital.’

‘Do you have your mobile?’

He patted his pockets, looking around vaguely.

‘Do you even know where your mobile
is
?’

He set his mouth in a rueful line and shook his head.

‘Happily, I do. It’s plugged in in the kitchen. Here,’ she unwound herself from the chair, ‘Let me get it for you.’

He slipped on his shoes and ran a cursory hand through his hair. It was still quite warm out, but he got his jacket from the peg on the landing; the jacket was like a badge and he assumed it was in his role as Universal Dad that Thingee wanted to see him. Jacquie came out of the kitchen with his phone and put it in his inside pocket, patting it for good measure.

‘Off you go, then, Superman,’ she said, kissing him on the end of his nose. ‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Nightie-night, Wonder Woman,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know if I’ll
be late.’

She hung over the banisters and waved as he went out through the front door. Mighty Mouse. Superman. Green Lantern. Mad Max. Whatever you called him, he was there to save the day. It was only as the door closed behind him that she realised that he had told her nothing about his unusual day – hopefully, it could wait.

Sylvia Matthews arrived as Maxwell got to the main road and he squeezed himself in to her tiny car.

‘Thanks for coming, Max,’ she said. ‘I tried to persuade Charlotte to wait until tomorrow, but the ward staff can’t do a thing with her. They’ve had to put her in a side room. She’s inconsolable.’

‘What’s happened, for heaven’s sake?’

‘They’re not sure. She was due for the procedure today but there was some kind of crisis in the operating theatre and they had to bump half the list. In normal circumstances they would send everyone home, of course, and carry on as listed tomorrow, bring them back another time. But of course, as you can imagine, time is of the essence here, so they kept them in, pending an early start tomorrow. Then, after visiting hours, they found her… well, you’ll see for yourself.’

‘Who visited?’

‘No one knows. The staff don’t make any kind of list, you know. Those days are passed, if they were ever here. All they know is that when everyone had gone, a girl from the next bed rang her bell and they found Charlotte close to collapse.’

‘Changed her mind?’

‘That’s what they thought at first. Idiot!’ Sylvia suddenly yelled at a cyclist and by the time Maxwell’s heart had left his mouth, she was speaking again. ‘They asked her that. She just shook her head. Then, she asked for you. That’s it.’

‘We’ve hardly spoken since I left for America,’ Maxwell said. ‘I just wished her well, that’s all.’

‘Well, that may be it,’ Sylvia said, swinging into the car park at Leighford General. ‘Perhaps she’s tired of the rest of us and our platitudes.’

‘My platitudes are the same as anyone else’s,’ Maxwell pointed out. ‘Look…’ he waved a hand vaguely to the left. ‘There’s one!’

‘Platitude?’

‘Parking space!’

Sylvia turned into the space, cutting up an old lady in a car too big for her. ‘No way she’d have got in there,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Well spotted, Max. For a non-driver, you are a great parker.’

‘I
am
a driver,’ he said. ‘I just don’t actually do it. I have a license and scarily enough could quite legally drive Jacquie’s car any time. I’m
on the insurance. No one ever asks when you drove last, just when you passed your test.’

Sylvia looked twitchy. ‘You’re not planning to
do
it, though, Max, are you?’ she asked.

‘God, no. I’m just saying.’

The school nurse blew her cheeks out with relief. ‘That’s all right, then. Okay, it’s round here, to the left.’ She ferreted for the change for the parking machine, muttering as she always did about NHS scams and dived into a rabbit warren of buildings, leading him round corners and across forgotten quads until they reached an automatic door which opened jerkily to let them in. After washing their hands at the next set of doors, they made their way down a dimly lit corridor into the ward and were about to turn into a curtained side-room when a bantam dressed as a nurse barred their way.

‘What, may I ask,’ she said, in her best and most piercing hiss, ‘do you think you’re doing?’

Sylvia stepped forward. ‘This is Mr Maxwell. Charlotte Wilson is asking for him.’

The nurse looked him up and down and found nothing good there. Dirty old bugger, messing around with a girl less than half his age. It was a wonder his wife put up with it. ‘She may have been,’ she said. ‘But she isn’t now.’

Maxwell bit back a retort. It wasn’t blowing a gale, nor yet snowing
or hailing, but even so, he had been dragged out of his comfy home and from the company of his comfy wife on what seemed to be a wild goose chase. ‘Madam,’ he said and remembered just in time he wasn’t wearing a hat so didn’t make a fool of himself with an aborted doff. ‘I was asked to come along here this evening and have done so at considerable inconvenience. If Miss Wilson is no longer asking for me, that’s irrelevant, surely. If I pop in and see her for a minute, she won’t be asking for me again when it is even more of a nuisance to everyone.’

The bantam ruffled her metaphorical feathers and looked smug. ‘She may still be asking for you, for all I know. But she isn’t doing it here. She’s discharged herself. And we couldn’t stop her; she hasn’t had a procedure of any kind, so as far as it goes she is a member of the public. Pregnancy isn’t an illness.’

‘She’s discharged herself?’ Sylvia said. ‘But she was hysterical. Pregnancy may not be an illness, but surely suicidal ideation is.’

The bantam pulled in her chin and looked at Sylvia down her nose. ‘I see someone has been checking online symptoms,’ she said. ‘Miss Wilson showed no signs of suicidal ideation, as you put it. She is just yet one more girl who has found it hard to part with a baby. Happens all the time. We can’t advise. Woman’s right to choose and all that. She’ll have to come back, though; she’s left her things.’ She turned on her heel and then stopped, speaking over her shoulder. ‘So I would ask you to leave my ward, or I will call security.’ And with that, she stepped smartly into
her office and shut the door behind her.

‘Ah,’ Maxwell said, putting an arm round Sylvia Matthews’ shoulder, feeling as he did so that she was trembling with rage. ‘The caring profession – it’s a vocation, you know. Like teaching.’

‘Max, I…’

‘Let it go, Sylv. Nurses haven’t been the same since that nice Miss Nightingale retired. Let’s get back to the car and we’ll think where to go from here.’

They stepped into the corridor again and were hailed by a familiar voice.

‘Mr Maxwell, Nurse Matthews. What’re you doin’ here?’ Mrs B managed to look as though she had a fag-end in her mouth even in this strictly no-tobacco environment.

‘Mrs B.’ Maxwell said, unsurprised. ‘I always forget that you work here.’ The woman held the cleaning monopoly on the South Coast.

‘Just onna bank, these days,’ she said. ‘Saving for Christmas, that kind of thing. Lots off sick, ’specially in this ward. That Sister, she’s a tartar.’

‘Is that the word?’ Sylvia asked. ‘I think she’s more of a…’

‘Sylv!’ Maxwell warned. ‘She probably has a heart of gold.’

‘Not really,’ Mrs B told him. ‘She’s a first class bitch and no mistake. Never mind, though, I’m mostly public areas on my shift. Don’t really have to have much to do with her. But what you doin’ here? Been
visitin’? Mrs M’s all right, I hope. Nobody poorly at home? Can’t be Mrs Troubridge. I doubt she’s ever seen the inside of a nanti-naval ward.’

‘Errand of mercy, Mrs B,’ Maxwell replied. ‘Not really, no. She’s fine. No, all well. No it isn’t. I agree totally.’

Mrs B grinned. Mr M was salt of the earth, but you had to trot to keep up with him. Sometimes it was hard to tell what the mad old bleeder was on about. ‘I best be off,’ she said. ‘I finish in an hour.’

‘See you tomorrow, Mrs B,’ Maxwell said. ‘Up at the school.’

‘Right you are,’ she said, and, leaning on her trolley to give it momentum, wandered off up the corridor, singing under her breath.

‘I wonder when she sleeps?’ Sylvia asked, as they retraced their steps through the rabbit warren.

‘Mrs B? I don’t believe she does,’ Maxwell said. ‘Sleep is for wimps. She just hangs upside down in the wardrobe.’

‘Is there a Mr B?’ she asked. ‘I’ve often wondered.’

‘Mrs B’s family is very complicated,’ Maxwell said, ‘and to be honest, I’ve never been sure about Mr B or even if he has ever existed. I think it might be rather like film stars when one is more famous than the other. So husbands just end up being Mr Whatever, using the wife’s name.’

‘Like Brangelina,’ Sylvia said.

‘If you say so,’ Maxwell agreed, patting her. She was clearly tired. ‘Here’s the car. Let’s work out Plan B.’

‘Come back to ours,’ Sylvia said. ‘Guy is out at some team-building rubbish tonight. I have no idea when he’ll be back.’

‘I’ll just ring Jacquie,’ Maxwell said, producing his mobile with a flourish.

‘My word,’ Sylvia said. ‘Is that what I think it is?’

‘Indeed it is,’ Maxwell said, punching keys with aplomb. ‘If Jacquie ever finds out that I can use this thing, I’ll know it will be you who told her.’

A tiny, tinny voice sounded from his palm and he put the phone to his ear.

‘Sorry, heart, what was that?’

‘I said,’ repeated his wife, ‘that you always forget that you have home on speed dial. It connects after the zero – no need for the other numbers.’

‘Ah. Well, that proves I can’t use it, I suppose. We have drawn a blank here. Old Thingee has discharged herself, so we need to find her. Sylv is a bit worried that she might… well, I don’t have Thingee down as the suicidal type, but I expect that’s what everyone says. I’ll let you know how we get on.’

‘Do you need any help? Shall I ring the Nick?’

‘No, I think Sylv has her address?’ He made it into a question and Sylvia nodded, turning the ignition key and reversing out of the space as she did so. ‘We’ll try there first and if no go, we’ll have a think. See you
soon. Love you.’

‘Love you too. I’ll wait up.’

‘You’re an angel. Mwah.’ He pressed a key and put the phone back in his pocket.

‘Max,’ Sylvia said. ‘I can still hear your lovely wife.’

Maxwell smiled happily. ‘I often hear her voice in my head,’ he said. ‘It’s nice it’s not just me.’

‘No, I think it’s coming from your pocket.’

‘Oh.’ Maxwell foraged inside his jacket and fished out the phone again. He held it gingerly to his ear. ‘I forget that every time, heart,’ he said to it. ‘Sorry. Mwah again.’ He looked at the phone and very deliberately pressed another button. He smiled at Sylvia. ‘Always doing that. Wrong button.’

‘I thought that might be the case,’ Sylvia laughed. ‘Do you want to try Charlotte’s house first? It’s further out than ours.’

‘No, let’s get back to yours. We can ring her from there. She might even ring you.’

‘True. I can’t think what the silly girl is doing. She seemed to have sorted everything out when we spoke yesterday.’

‘She’s in a fragile frame of mind,’ Maxwell said. ‘Changing the subject for a minute, how’s Guy’s new school panning out?’

‘It’s hard work, compared to his last place. It’s the kind of school that likes its pound of flesh. Lots of evening activities, that kind of thing.
It used to be a Community School when that was trendy and for once it seemed to have worked. There are still a lot of things that the local people join in with; sports, drama, that kind of thing. Of course, Guy loves it. You know him and his rugger. He hasn’t had a team to coach for ages. Even the girls play.’

‘A whistling woman and a crowing hen are neither fit for God nor men,’ Maxwell said, somewhat enigmatically.

‘Pardon?’

‘Women’s rugger. Not natural.’ Sylvia sketched a slap around his head. ‘Sorry, I know that sounds sexist, but it just isn’t right.’

‘Perhaps not, but it shows they’re keen and that’s the main thing.’

‘I daresay Guy is a bit of a draw,’ Maxwell observed. ‘He is a bit of a hunk… by all accounts,’ he added hurriedly.

Sylvia laughed. ‘He’s not bad, for his age,’ she conceded. No one except Sylvia and Guy knew quite what their age gap was, but they were such a perfect couple, after a while, no one noticed. On the few occasions that they and the Maxwell’s had been out together, they looked like two couples; just not the actual ones.

‘I’m glad it’s going well, though,’ Maxwell said. ‘Moving schools must be a headache.’

‘They’re all different,’ she conceded. ‘But whenever he moans, I just remind him his Head could be Legs and he backs down.’

Maxwell snorted and settled back in the seat, bracing himself for the
hairpin bend as they left Leighford Town Centre. Once that was over, it was just a couple of turns to Sylvia’s house, a drink and a think. He felt his eyes closing and woke up with a jerk outside her semi.

‘Come on, Max,’ she said, poking him in the side. ‘We’re here. Guy still isn’t back, so I’ll park on the road. We don’t want him boxing me in when he comes home.’

‘I wasn’t asleep,’ he protested. ‘I was just resting my eyes.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Come on, let’s go in and try Charlotte’s number.’

‘It’s worth a go,’ he said. ‘And where will we start if she doesn’t answer?’

‘My guess would be Andrew Baines’ place,’ she said, grimly.

‘Which is where?’ He had finally struggled out of her Smart Car and was brushing himself down on the pavement.